


Remembering

by amorbidartist (boringusername01)



Category: Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
Genre: Depression, Egypt, F/M, M/M, Multi, These three are disgustingly in love, Threesome, Trauma, canonverse, dealing with the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boringusername01/pseuds/amorbidartist
Summary: As Handel stood in front of them, Herbert was greatly reminded of the first day Pip landed in Egypt and how it had been natural for Herbert to go to him first, them having had a longer acquaintance, but now, Pip and Clara had become so dear to one another that Herbert felt it presumptuous to step into Handel’s arms first. And his friend seemed to have a similar hesitation. Clara, however, did not, and simply devised an efficient solution to the problem: she put an arm around Herbert’s waist and took him with her as she embraced Handel from the left. Thus, Herbert embraced him from the right. An embrace had never felt so complete as that one had.
Relationships: Clara Barley/Herbert Pocket, Clara Barley/Philip Pirrip, Clara Barley/Philip Pirrip/Herbert Pocket, Philip Pirrip/Herbert Pocket
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just one historical inaccuracy you have to allow me: I do not know if they had sinks or what form they took in, but I have used the word and I’m not turning back. I stand to be corrected, but everything is else is with the times.

Day 1 of that first year

As Pip walked off the great ship that had brought him days of impatience and brooding, he thought little of what was ahead but concerned himself with all that was gone. He thought of his debts settled, of Magwitch in his grave, of his sister in hers, of Joe and Biddy, unlikely to see him for an age. He thought of Estella, the woman who had tormented his heart, and tormented it still. He could think of nothing, but what had brought him pain in the recent years that had passed. It brought him a twisted comfort to obsess over the events because it assured him that his misery was justified; it meant he could retrace the events that brought him to ruin and he could punish and berate himself for the foolishness of his belief that his expectations could always be expected, and that it would compensate for any deficits in his character; it meant that he would not forget the people that made him who he was.

With concentration focused on either his luggage or his thoughts, his heart jumped and skittered when that voice that broke through every self-pitying storm filled the air.

“Handel! It feels as though we have been expecting you for ages.” 

Herbert’s arms around Pip forced him to leave his bags strewn on the ground. “How I missed the sight of my harmonious blacksmith.” 

Pip allowed himself to breathe into Herbert’s embrace. He allowed his worries to float away, and remember the happiness of the early days of living in London. He remembered the surprise of realising Herbert was the first boy he hurt and how he would be the man who never abandoned Pip if he knew Pip to be hurt. He remembered that he had a friend beyond value in Herbert; thus, he damned propriety and held his friend for a few moments longer and smelled the scents of Egypt on him.

When they stepped away from each other, both had flushed faces and Clara had a queer look about her face, but neither spoke of it, knowing their bond was beyond words. Pip extended his hands to Clara’s and she put hers in his. Still basking in the happiness of seeing Herbert, Pip brought Clara’s hands to his lips and gave them the gentlest of kisses.

“Thank you for welcoming me to this land.”

His welcoming party exchanged expressions and Clara said, “You are very welcome, Pip.”

Another few moments of that meaningful silence, then it was gone and Pip remembered he held the hands of the woman engaged to his friend. He dropped them almost unceremoniously and picked up two of his bags while Herbert took hold of the third. On the carriage ride to their home, Clara pointed out the buildings and Herbert spoke of the people within them. They passed the homes of the natives and Clara described their make, and Herbert spoke of the wonders of the people within them. When they arrived at the Pocket household, the postilion left them and the three walked into the house. 

#

Day 17 of that first year 

“Herbert, I worry,” Clara implored as she and Herbert walked along the quiet road.

As did he, but he hoped that Pip’s affliction was a passing one. He hoped it would heal like the burns on his friend’s hands. He believed Pip should not have to suffer the way he did, and deluded himself: he believed that the world would follow his lead. But, it did not and Clara was the one leading the world in the other direction.

Pip’s state of melancholy would not be a passing phase. It would be a challenge to be dealt with, sometimes in the gentlest of manners and others in the harshest of tones.

“What can we do if he decides not to leave the fireplace?”

“I worry that one day he will thrust his hands into that very fireplace where he has fixed himself, merely to see if he is still of the physical world.” She halted her steps and Herbert turned to face her as she continued. “You recall the happiness of that initial day with fondness, but do not tell me you did not feel the wind that swept the house when he awoke on the following morning. Do not tell me he eats enough and speaks enough. Do not tell me it bodes well for his health to stay indoors with two people whom he knows care for him and still be so unhappy.”

The fierceness in Clara’s trembling voice warmed Herbert’s heart in the most unexpected manner. He believed he held the worry for Handel alone, but Clara’s words showed him that he was not the only one who had a keen eye on Pip around the house.

“You hold the worries of my best friend so close to your heart?”

She wiped away the tear that slid down her face. “How could I not love the one that the dearest to me holds dear to him? Even in this morose state, I hold a strong fondness for Pip.” Herbert wrapped his arms around her and swept his hand through her hair as she barely whispered into his shoulder, “It is most confounding to me as well, but it is true.”

“Unbeknownst to him, but Pip does have such an effect on the people around him, my love,” Herbert replied. Then a thought struck him and he placed his hands on Clara’s shoulders as he looked her in the eye.

“Perhaps we have found the crux of the issue. Pip is most dangerous when he is idle because he believes he serves no value at that moment. Perhaps, he needs to feel as if he giving something to us to give himself a moment’s reprieve from the guilt that sits beside him at the fireplace.”

Clara looked at him doubtfully. “But all we require at the moment is his amiable company, not for him to be ‘useful’.”

“We do, my love, but he does require more of himself, and we should endeavour to help him.”

Clara considered his words. The sun bore down on them and he could it feel the burn of the sun through the brim of his hat and his clothes, but it highlighted the furrow between her eyebrows as she thought; it made even brighter her eyes. Herbert sent a thankful prayer for the beauty and the brightness of his wife and became amazed at how his love for her could grow for her even when they worried together.

She hummed and drew his hands away from her shoulders, but took one into one of hers and resumed their walk under the Eastern sun.

“Perhaps there is some sense to that. I have some ideas.”

Herbert smiled slowly and bent to kiss her upon the cheek. “As I knew you would. You are the master of thought between us.”

She held him by the chin and paused their walk for a final time. “When one intends to marry the master of fancy, one has to adapt.”

#

Day 30 of that first year 

“My dearest Handel, I know there are many men who can say they have been cooked a most pleasurable meal by the woman that they love most in this world.” Herbert wiped his hands on the serviette in his lap. “But I believe I am one of the few men who can declare he has been cooked such a fulfilling – in all aspects – meal made by the hands of the man he trusts most in the world.”

“Your words are too kind,” Pip said as he sipped at his glass of wine.

“His words,” Clara says, refilling her glass, “do not do it justice, Pip. I do not believe he praises the skills imparted by your teacher quite enough as well.”

“He really does not. On a full stomach, he seems to forget the flounder of that first pasta.”

“And the potatoes!”

“O! And that wonderfully crisp goat!”

Clara and Pip laughed at the past – something Pip himself had been unable to do in the passing weeks. Pip felt the wine making his head and heart lighter, but if he were to be honest, it was not the wine. Clara’s laugh resonated in the room, so far from the polite laugh she did in the day, and Pip felt as if he discovered something new in this land of unknown things. But she was not new: she was to marry his best of friends and such trains of thought were traitorous to the trust between them. Pip, however, relished in the brightness of a having a new friend for a moment longer before he took another sip from his glass. When he looked to Herbert, his friend had an expression of absolute contentment, as if all was happy in the world and not a cloud would dare disturb such peace. 

As Pip cleared the table of the bones of the late dinner, he remembered how so like the first evening of his arrival this dinner was, and he thought of the following morning, how he had awoken in such a shrouding of gloom that would not relent until Clara berated him, quite harshly, for sitting as she went about the house and ensured the floors were clean, the food prepared and cooked, the beds made and all sorts of tasks that the men mind as womanly business while I mind it as necessary business. He had felt shame, not as sharp, but similar in taste, to when his sister complained of the housework, and that shame forced his lame feet from the fireplace to the kitchen, where Clara prepared breakfast for the household. Pip could not recall the moment when shame stopped driving him and purpose took the reins, but he supposed that it only mattered that it did, or he would have remained a burden to these two wonderful souls, as he had been under his sister’s roof. 

A hand on his shoulder shook him out of his downward tumble into himself.

“Pip,” Clara said softly. “I called your name thrice.”

He began to apologise earnestly, but his words broke down when she shook her head slightly.

“I don’t want to hear you repent. I want to hear what you believe you need to repent for.”

Perhaps it was her words, perhaps her imploring tone, but mostly it was the weight of her hand – the one that cleaned, held Herbert, and now rested on him – that reassured him she was sincere in her request. After weeks of silence and self-inflicted isolation, Pip felt his heart crack down the middle, and a sob erupted, involuntarily, from deep in his chest. Clara was quick to move a soothing hand along his back, but the sobs shuddered through him more readily. Clara drew him into an embrace and Pip let himself relax into, but he remembered Herbert and felt ashamed that he would take such comfort from her in front of him – or at all – and he tried to pull away. However, Clara would not relent. As he tried to straighten himself and wipe at his eyes, she, her forehead up to his chin, took his chin and forced him to face her.

“You need never be ashamed of your tears under this roof. Never.”

He allowed her to put her arms around him as he cried for that inescapable inadequacy that seemed to haunt him at the most inconvenient of times. After he had sobbed into Clara’s shoulder, he looked up to see how deplorable his friend found him. However, when he met Herbert’s eyes, they had silent tears flowing from them that had the power to begin to clear Pip’s own head. He stood up straight, which quietened Clara’s soft murmuring. 

With a hand on her shoulder, but his eyes on his friend, Pip said, “What makes you weep so?”

Herbert looked at them uncomprehendingly for some moments before he recovered his speech. 

“I–” Herbert’s voice came out strained, but he cleared his throat. “I would not make this evening about me.”

“Then know it would quiet the ache in my chest if you would speak of what troubles you,” Pip said as him and Clara sat back in their seats, hands back to themselves and in their laps.

“What troubles me, Handel,” he began, almost angrily, entirely tired, “is that you do not speak when you are troubled. You ensnare yourself in secrets and silence, and then sob in the kitchen– and please do not misunderstand me. I do not complain of you: I worry about the silence when you seem to believe yourself so far away from being the man I hold dearest. My tears flow because yours flow, just as my smile forms when yours does. I beg you to believe I say all this with honesty and the hope that you will believe in my sincerity.”

At the end of his sentence, Herbert sat back in his chair, seemingly defeated by his admission. Pip allowed himself a moment of thought before he attempted to explain himself.

“You both are aware that there have been, ah, stresses in my life. And on my journey here, and before then, I recalled all that had passed, and I could not help but feel that my deficits in character created the strife of so many others. I thought of my benefactor and the end of his life, I thought of Joe and Biddy, who have forgiven me for my slights against them, I thought of–”

He considered omitting Estella, but that would be dishonest.

“I thought of Estella and how I would still brave her coldness. I thought of my sister – I thought of her as I stood in at the sink. I thought of it all, and a melancholy seized me and would not release me. Even when I settled into your wonderful home, I still felt – feel – like a burden to those around me. I do not know if there are words that can erase this sadness, but if there were, I would utter them to myself upon waking every morning if it meant I could make this house more pleasant. If there were an action that would sweep the cobwebs away, I would perform it with unparalleled dedication. But there is none. There is none because there is only me. I believe now that I could not have undergone those challenges and escaped without guilt and sadness following me, and the two have become a part of me like the happiness I feel at this table. That is the honest condition I am in.”

By the final sentence, Pip’s eyes were on his hands and the way they drummed against his thighs. He could not bear to see how his friends would understand the words.

“Pip,” Clara’s voice called to him. “Thank you for sharing your pain with us. If the guilt and sadness are a part of you now…” 

She looked wordlessly to Herbert, who continued, “Then we will love the guilt and the sadness.”

Pip scarcely had space in his chest for the love that filled it.


	2. Chapter 2

Day 140 of that first year 

After Herbert carried their luggage into the house, he came back for his beautiful wife.

“Are you ready?”

“Of course.”

He lifted her into his arms and walked up to the door as she laughed joyously.

To her, and for her only to hear, he whispered, “Let us walk into our home as Mr and Mrs Herbert Pocket.”

She frowned jokingly. “I rather liked the name Clara. Seems a pity to have done away with it.”

“I assure you, my dear wife, that life is infinitely easier as a Herbert. The name Clara is too sonorous and heavenly on the tongue.”

Her laugh rattled through her body. “Just take me across the doorway, you fool.” 

Ceremoniously, Herbert stepped across. As he stood with her in his arms, which were beginning to tire, they both surveyed their quiet home. In the silence, Herbert lowered her and placed an arm around her shoulder as they contemplated the stillness. He thought of the life that would follow: eventually, Pip would leave their walls, and the echoes of children’s footsteps would fill the halls; Clara’s voice would rouse the children in the morning, while Herbert would tell them tales to get them to settle. Their life would be a rhythm that would beat until the end. 

The predictability of the rest of his days made the smile drift from his face. While he wished for nothing more than Clara to be at his side until his heart stopped, he did not wish for their lives to settle in such a droll manner.

“Clara,” he whispered into her hair, “I know all the things we said about until death do us part, but can I ask one more promise of you?”

“If it is within my power, my love.”

“Promise me that our life together will always be…”

“Exciting? Herbert, we will grow old eventually.”

“Not in the way of adventures. Promise to remind me there are always new feelings out there.”

“Only if you will promise me the same.”

“Well, if the master of thought and the master of fancy are tasked with the responsibility of this task, it will surely be done.”

~

Later that evening, Clara and Herbert moved around the kitchen, removing the last of dinner from the heat when Handel’s voice rang out, “Is that the smell of my teacher’s famous lamb dish? I must have died from heatstroke.”

Herbert laughed at the humour in his friend’s voice.

As Handel turned into the kitchen, he said, “And is that the laugh of the best of men? The Lord is kind to me in death.” 

As Handel stood in front of them, Herbert was greatly reminded of the first day Pip landed in Egypt and how it had been natural for Herbert to go to him first, them having had a longer acquaintance, but now, Pip and Clara had become so dear to one another that Herbert felt it presumptuous to step into Handel’s arms first. And his friend seemed to have a similar hesitation. Clara, however, did not, and simply devised an efficient solution to the problem: she put an arm around Herbert’s waist and took him with her as she embraced Handel from the left. Thus, Herbert embraced him from the right. An embrace had never felt so complete as that one had. His wife’s arm still rested on his waist, while Handel’s arm came around his shoulders. 

It was the first new feeling of Herbert's married life. He was sure he loved his wife even more at that moment, but he began to suspect his love for his friend – made stronger by the absence of four weeks – had reached unnameable lengths.

~

They were well into their second bottle when Handel brought up the topic of their absence.

“It was dreadfully boring. I seem to have only made two friends in my time here outside of my co-workers.”

“And who are these friends, if I might ask,” Herbert said as he squinted suspiciously at Handel.

“To give a hint: They both hold the surname Pocket.”

“O! I have heard they are delightful company. I am most happy to leave you forever in their company.”

“If only they would allow me,” Handel said. But the manner with which he said it was not the joking tone of a moment earlier, but a tone of vulnerability. Handel thought of his imagining of his future home and firmly decided that his first point would never come into fruition if Herbert had any choice in the matter. 

“I believe,” Clara said, with frightening clarity, “that your friends would have you around as long as you allowed them to have you.”

“Without a shadow of a doubt,” Herbert added.

Pip took another gulp of his wine glass before he set it on the table above his head.

“But in all honesty, there was absolute happiness, in seeing them after too many days apart, when I saw them earlier this evening. That strange certainty that I feel around them settled in my heart for the duration of our– of our greeting.”

Herbert’s mouth went dry as he noticed the flush in Handel’s face. However, the air left his chest when he saw a familiar flush in Clara’s. And, so, he was compelled to say the following words:

“I am certain your friends would not be opposed to a repetition of the greeting, even in such a time when a greeting is not required.”

Giving a moment’s breath, the three of them gathered in the centre of the rug, wine glasses forgotten. Once again, Clara’s arm wound around his waist and Handel held onto the back of Herbert’s shirt. Handel looked to Herbert for a final check of certainty. Herbert could only nod dumbly.

Herbert would never be able to accurately describe how his heart beat furiously and his stomach dropped as Handel put his lips to Clara’s neck. Herbert declared for himself that there could be no wrong in seeing Clara pleasured, even if he also had an interest in the man kissing her. Handel moved his lips along the curve of her neck and both of them heaved sighs of relief when Handel found her lips. Handel brought his hand – the hand on Clara’s back, the hand that never forgot it spent its formative years in the forge, the hand that could sturdy a cloud – to Clara’s face that glowed in the light of the fire. So profound was Herbert’s arousal that he did not know where best to start. 

He started where it was most familiar: the crook of Clara’s neck, the corner of her jaw, the sensitive spot behind her ear that wrought a low moan from his wife. He removed himself from her ear to observe his dearests once again, but they had paused in their kissing and looked into one another so deeply that Herbert felt he was invading a private moment. Before he could look away or return to his own ministrations, Handel met his eyes. And Herbert could not help but observe the pink colour of his friend’s lips at that moment, and Herbert knew he would want for nothing as much as he wanted to taste Handel’s lips after kissing his wife. The acknowledgement of that peculiar and improper feeling struck Herbert with still indecision, believing any movement would betray his desire.

“There is always honesty between us three,” said Clara.

“Even in indecent passions?” murmured Handel, with the vulnerability of one who still wore the invisible shackles of scorned love.

Herbert recollected himself. “If the love and admiration I hold for the man dearest to me are indecent, then they may call the love and admiration I hold for my wife indecent, for they are of the same unceasing passion.”

“Then allow us to make this an indecent affair,” Clara said with a smirk in her voice.

Herbert would never be able to say who grabbed whom, but he wished he could thank them profusely because exploring the mysteries of his dearest Handel with Clara at his side would never be an adventure he tired of.

Seconds or hours passed, and that unbreakable band of three had strewn their clothing between the dying fireplace and the Pocket bedroom – for it had the larger bed. It was a night of immeasurable pleasure for Herbert; he was not sane when Handel held him as Clara kissed him; he was absent of thought as he watched Clara and Handel wrench fascinating sounds from one another; he was devoid of reason when his lips surrounded Handel and the two loves of his life heaved groans that shook the earth. It was not a night of sane thought, but of passion, pure and indecent.

#

Day 141 of that first year

Clara awoke that morning and became aware there was one less body in this bed than there should be. Herbert stirred and murmured greetings. Clara returned them as she tried to quieten her mind. She felt Herbert’s arm stretch out, and when it found no one else on the other side of her, he lifted his head.

“It is extremely unlikely that Handel awoke before us,” Herbert said jokingly.

However, the joke lost its humour when the pair heard the click of a trunk being shut. Clara and Herbert looked quickly to one another and sprung from bed, both grabbing their robes from behind the door, and furiously tying them as they stood in Pip’s bedroom, which he was in process of clearing. 

“Handel,” Herbert said tentatively, “what is the meaning of this?”

The man in question did not turn, or admit to hearing the question.

“Handel.” Silence. 

“Pip.” Silence. 

“Han-del,” his voice hitched.

Clara knew once again Pip had a heart when he turned to face them. He had a horribly blank expression, like a man at the end of his life, who cared not for what had passed nor what was to come.

“I will not ruin the life you two have created here.” 

Without waiting to hear another word from Pip, Herbert walked away. Pip pretended to be unaffected, but he flinched at the sounds of Herbert slamming their bedroom door closed and settling into bed once again.

Clara’s breath had stopped cold in her chest. She could not think of a better way to express their love for him in any other way since. They had shared with him their first night as a married couple, a night they had waited for because Clara insisted, despite the nights where they'd come frightfully close, that she knew it would feel certain on their wedding. And it had, but unfortunately, only until the following morning.

“Pip,” Clara said with dead calm. “Who are you trying to spare? Us, or yourself?”

Pip opened his mouth to speak, but Clara rushed on.

“Because sparing us would consist of having stayed in bed with us last night and for every night to come. Sparing me would mean being at my side in the kitchen as we cook. Sparing Herbert would mean sharing a carriage with him to work.” Her voice rose to a shout, “Sparing us would mean not disappearing before we awoke. So, I beg of you to tell me again, who do you hope to spare: us, or yourself?”

Pip stepped forward and spoke as if was afraid of being overheard, “Would you wish for a man that brings scandal to your lives? To your future children’s lives?”

“I daresay we are far enough to avoid English scandal. And here in Egypt? The land is wide enough and our house private enough that we may enjoy each other freely.”

“What of the children?”

“What of the children that I do not have, and that I am uncertain I want to have? Why would I trade the people whom I love at this moment and promise to love for every other following for people of the imagination?”

“What of jealousy between husband and wife?”

“Despite how Herbert behaves, he is quite a sensible man. If there, and likely there will along this journey, arises an issue, we shall discuss it and make decisions then. We cannot make decisions without an event.”

“What of–”

“Pip! I am not answering any more questions, but I will agree to debate them at a more agreeable hour with your bags unpacked once again.”

“You would let us forget this incident?”

“Oh, no. We will remember it if only for the sake that it does not recur. Remember the sadness that invaded Herbert’s heart and drove him away. Remember the fury that Clara Pocket unleashed and the fury she will unleash if you attempt to leave in such a disagreeable manner again. Remember,” she held his face in her hands and gently pulled, “how much love I hold in my heart for you despite the anger that flows through me at this moment.”

She kissed him and remembered the freedom of last night and hoped they would be able to reach it once again.

When they broke away, Pip’s arousal faded to guilt. “Will he hear what I have to say?”

Clara smiled softly, “Herbert would hear the meaning of your heart with deaf ears. Go to him while I start breakfast– alone.”

~

Pip steadied himself and began to walk when he reconsidered. He removed his boots, and upon further consideration, the rest of his clothes followed suit: he was as dressed as when he'd awoken, in the hope he could reverse this mistake. When Pip opened the door, Herbert did not stir in the bed. Pip entered the unoccupied side of the bed. He found a red-eyed man who met his eyes.

“Pip, if you are ever to leave, please do it today because I do not think I am quite built to be the pit of despair you will leave behind on another future day. I simply am not– I cannot do it, I will not do it, I–”

Herbert was silenced by the press of Pip’s hand against his cheek.

“I will not do it today, nor on any other day. I swear it.”

“I will hold that vow as binding as my wedding vows. Do you hear me?”

“I do,” Pip said with a faint smile.

“Clara once said a very similar thing, I believe. Although, the place we were in was much colder.”

Pip smiled at the return of Herbert’s humour.

“We have been unable to disclose these feelings before now,” Pip said as his hand moved to the curve of Herbert’s neck. “But I want to say it to you.”

Pip took a breath. “To me, you are that moment when I awake from a night terror and realise I still live. You are the moment when those English clouds lose the battle and the sun emerges. You are Herbert Pocket, loyal husband to Clara, an expert of looking about him and making a place for himself. You are Herbert Pocket, and you have been the best man I have had the pleasure of knowing, and the one I hope to leave me with a final kiss when I am laid to rest.”

Herbert smiled greatly. “It pleases me to know that the man of my heart is apparently a poet.”

With a softer smile, Herbert said, “I love you a great deal as well.”

Pip leaned in to kiss Herbert. After enjoying the simplicity of it for a time, Pip pushed Herbert on his back and sat on his lap and went for another kiss.

“Please say my name.”

“Philip,” he said as Pip traced his mouth across his neck.

“Not that one.”

“Pip,” he whispered as Pip continued to travel down Herbert’s body.

“The one you gave me.”

“Handel,” Herbert sighed as Pip reached his expected destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely enjoyed Great Expectations and thought there was no way Pip, Herbert and Clara could settle in Egypt together and not become incredibly close. In my head, the last chapter of the book still happens, but under what circumstances he gets to that point is a mystery. I’ve just tried to account for the first few months of those 11 years.  
> I hope you enjoyed this, and enjoy reading the other 5 fics we have as a fandom :)


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